Broken Glass
Kel watched the delivery men and sighed. The avocado green Formica octagon in his dining room was not the table he'd envisioned. Maybe he could convince Stan to let him use a table cloth for special occasions. A table cloth on a roundish plastic table wasn't anywhere near the same as the long cherrywood dining service he'd actually hoped for, but it was better than just letting their professional friends eat off giant Fisher-Price toys.
He smiled wanly as the delivery men looked to him for approval - a foot to the left an inch to the right, whatever, it was all the same to him. Still an avocado green Formica octagon. They filed out of the apartment to collect another piece of junk.
"It's all modern, baby! Look, we're keeping with the times. Nothing but the best for my Sweet Baby."
The best was not a bunch of prefabricated factory fused crap from Sears Roebuck & Co. The best was a hardwood dining set from Ethan Allen. A heavy four poster bed auctioned off at Christies. Hell, just a regular brown coffee table from Wickes. It was not the hideously taste free royal blue overstuffed L-shaped velvet sofa that the delivery men were trying to maneuver in and out of the building's elevator.
"I know, it's expensive now, but we'll be so happy about it in that sexy seaside pad you found. You'll see."
He was absolutely not happy in the slightest. He could have lived with the trendy nightmare, if any of the seating was actually comfortable. But so far, the awful heavy gauge wire springs in the couch cushions and hard translucent green plexiglass dining chairs (that didn't even properly match the stupid Formica table) felt like an ice slab under his reasonably well padded ass. He shifted miserably, before giving up to watch the men reassemble the velvet horror in pieces all over the living room.
"Delivery's all set up. We just need to pick up a few art prints, you know, for color, and then we'll be ready for company!"
The art prints had arrived two days ago, and they were, indeed, colorful. More notable, though, was the subject matter : tropical settings featuring close ups of naked children playing in the ocean; a bad attempt at pointillism that eventually resolved into a painting of a Greek nude statue from an unnecessarily low angle; and what looked to Kel suspiciously like a dead woman hanging off a settee, her head just scant millimeters above her blood pooling on the floor. (Stan insisted the dark ominous puddle under the woman was just a shadow, and that it had been artistic license to use such a warm shade for what ought to have been a cool darkness, but Kelly had seen enough bloodless faces and blood soaked bandages to know when something wasn't right, and this definitely wasn't right.)
"When the bed arrives, we'll have to christen it right."
Kel shut his eyes and told himself for the fifth time that morning that his wrists weren't burning and his shoulders didn't ache. There was no point in pretending his legs didn't hurt - the way he'd been trussed up, pushed down, and taken over, it was a miracle he could even walk down the stairs for breakfast that morning. (He wasn't so sure he'd be able to make the walk back up for bed - especially not if this was part of Stan's long term plan to prove his fidelity to Kelly.)
"Okay, sir, if I can get your John Hancock here..." One of the delivery men left his colleagues to finish maneuvering the sofa (which looked even bigger and bluer and tackier inside the apartment), and brought over a clipboard with about a billion things to sign off on. Though there were no curtains to block the considerable mid morning sun, the man still reached out and turned on one of the lamps nearest to Kel.
The three stained glass floor lamps were the only items Kel picked for himself, and now they seemed terribly kitschy and out of place in this modern day showroom. He had half a mind to take them back and exchange them for some plain white linen shades but if he did, then there'd be nothing to show off any bit of Kel's aesthetic, a mistake he'd made in Hollywood, but refused to make again. The lamps were ugly and gaudy accessories for the Fisher-Price bright pieces all over the place, but they were staying.
"Nice lamps," one of the delivery men said on the way out for the final time. There was some muffled snickering, followed by a defensive "Whaaaaat?" The voices faded away into an indistinguishable mumble as they stilled down the hall and then finally the last of the conversation was swallowed up by the closing of the elevator doors.
Kel shut the front door with a sigh, only half relieved that the delivery was complete. He turned and eyed the mishmash circus nightmare that was now his living room. "Blue velvet," he said under his breath, and glared balefully at the brilliant blue couch that dominated the room. Almost half a month’s pay went to that thing, and he'd actually signed for it. Multiple times.
He was supposed to be calling restaurants, not bitching and moaning about crappy furniture. He shook off the heavy cloak of buyer's remorse and went to the very back of the unit, away from the beautiful ocean views that first drew him in. Tucked away, behind an extra bed and bath, sat a teeny tiny, closet-like room. When he'd first discovered it, he thought it looked like it could have served as a food pantry, except it was so far from the kitchen as to be impractical. Perhaps it had been a proper built in wardrobe, or a failed attempt at a walk-in closet. Whatever it was, it had no light fixture or other electrical outlets, no windows, nothing but four bare walls, recently stripped of their built in shelves, and a strangely narrow door. Part of the reason the door was so narrow was to accommodate the beveled ceiling that took up far too much of the room to make practical use of the space. Maybe Dixie could stand up straight in every corner of the room but then her pretty golden bouffant bangs would be crushed if she wasn't careful.
The strange dimensions of the room made it the perfect place to get away from Stan's awful attempt at interior decoration, and from Stan himself. Stanford was much too tall, too broad to be comfortably squeezed into such a space. Kel found the room just as uncomfortable unfurnished, but his flexibility (both physically and emotionally speaking) made it easy for him to see just what kind of oasis he could create. A smallish wicker chair and matching table, a battery powered lantern, a short, dilapidated bookcase (pilfered from work!), and about a thousand goose down pillows quickly turned the awkward space into a fully enclosed pillow fort with just enough room for one grown man.
He grabbed the hall phone and pulled it along into his hidey-hole, dragging the cord behind him like a long, thin tail. It was a slimline number, with the push buttons (!) in the handset - which meant that it didn't matter that the phone's base didn't reach all the way into his little room. He could still conduct business from the comfort of his pillow fort. (When he first saw how close the hall phone jack was to what he was already thinking of as his room, he'd immediately thought of Dixie's phone and knew he had to have one just like it. He'd nearly run off and bought one just like it, but he was afraid Stan would dig in his heels for going 'behind his back'. Instead, he asked in his most innocent voice didn't Stan think the phone would be a perfect accent to the modern decor. He could tell Stanford could see right through him, but Stan was happy to indulge, as if it was Stan's money paying for this ridiculous furnishing.)
Kel had to call three different restaurants before he found one that was capable of creating the kind of meal that 1) Stan would be satisfied serving to strangers, 2) wouldn't necessarily break what was left of Kel's bank, and 3) would deliver said meal to their door between 4 and 5 PM - five hours notice for a four course, five star meal. The cuisine wasn't Kel's first choice (Greek food didn't exactly thrill him), but the place was listed in several travel guides and the price was... well, actually, no, Kel didn't want to think about the price.
"Kelly! Are you in here?" Stan's voice floated in to him through the goose feathers and concrete and spiraling panic. Kel scrambled out of his room just as Stan appeared at the far end of the hall. A dark cloud passed over Stan's face but he wiped it away with a smile. "Making some calls?"
"Dinner's all set," Kel said, and held up the phone. "Took some time, but it looks like we're having Greek. They'll even bring it up, so we can just concentrate on being efficient hosts." He tried to return the smile, but his face wouldn't work. God, he felt so guilty, and he couldn't even put his finger on why.
"Mmhm." Stan leaned against the wall, and crossed his arms over his chest, slow and easy. It looked like a casual move, a casual stance, but there was something in the eyes, in the way he set his shoulders that reminded Kel less of a sleeping cat, and more of a coiling snake. "Must have gotten a good deal," Stan said. "You look flushed." He licked his lips and hooked a finger at Kel.
Kel resisted the urge to run and hide in his room. "Now what do you want?"
"Whaddya think? Get over here."
Kelly forced himself to put one foot in front of the other, to walk down to the mouth of the hall. "Okay, I'm-"
Quicker than lightening, Stan reached out and snatched his wrist in a vicegrip. A sudden yank, and Kel found himself crushed to his partner's chest, his hands full of phone and phonecord caught between their bodies. Stan's eyes seemed to positively glitter with fevered madness. "What are you hiding from me, my sweet, sweet baby?" The words were gentle and sweet, but the question set off alarms in the back of Kel's mind. "Hm? What are you planning?"
"A small dinner party?"
Stan smiled harder and hummed and didn't relax his grip even a little bit. "You sneaky, sneaky boy. I know you. You're a little sneak." He planted little, chaste kisses on Kel's forehead, mussing his hair with his nose. "That's okay, my little sneak. I don't mind." He finally released Kel, but he yanked the phone from Kelly's cramped fingers. "You don't need this anymore." He gestured towards the living room with his head. "Take a seat. I have plans for us, while we're still alone."
"Stan... we don't have the t-"
"Oh, don't be ridiculous. Your friend isn't coming for hours. Besides, we have a lot of furniture we need to bless." Stan leered and waggled his eyebrows. "Hurry up."
"You know, I do plan on living here a long time, Stan. We have the rest of-"
The rest of Kel's protest was swallowed in a tonsil-probing kiss. Stan pressed him against the wall, effectively trapping Kel with his body. Kel couldn't help the hysterical laughter that bubbled up. Stan pulled back to glare indignantly. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing," Kel said, trying to hide his laughter. "I guess I just like being wanted," he said. It was true enough, and probably the closest thing he'd figure to the truth.
"You wanna be chased, huh? I'll give you a chase." Stan grabbed Kel's arm and thrust him bodily into the open space that lead back to the living room proper. Before Kel could fully regain his footing, he was pushed again, and again, towards the awful blue couch. He was both frightened and flattered - it was as if Stan was trying to make up for the past year’s mutual neglect in a matter of hours. The gesture was insanely appealing, but the execution left Kel wondering about Stan's motivations, the truth his feelings.
One final push sent Kel tumbling backwards over the back corner of the sofa, to land flat on his face on the corner seat. He groaned in pain and rubbed at his neck and shoulder where he'd landed badly before his body had finished the arc of his fall. He raised up on his elbows to look over the back of the sofa, intending to protest the rough treatment, only to have a hand planted between his shoulder blades. He was pinned to the fuzzy velvet cushions, and felt his shirttails yanked out of his waistband. "Don't rip-"
The hand on his back moved up to the back of his head and yanked viciously. "Shhh. No back talk, little one."
Kel gritted his teeth, and gripped at the back of the couch with one hand. He tried to lift his hips, so Stan could get at his fly a little easier, but was rewarded for his effort with a faceful of velvet seat. He took the hint, and went lax. Eventually, the restraining hand moved on to assist the other in disrobing Kel - and buttons popped off, bits of shirt ripped, the fly of his corduroy jeans jammed before it too was ripped from its lining. Kel forced himself to breathe evenly through it all - this part would end soon, and they'd get to the good part in just a minute.
A hot, heavy hand at his entrance obliterated all worries about his dwindling wardrobe, and Kel squirmed, revolted, angry and turned on all at once. At first, anger dominated as he was dry fingered roughly, held down by his own corduroy and cotton boxers twisted around his knees and a hand on his neck (his fucking neck!). But then the finger brushed across the magic place deep inside, the place that always made Kel forget all the indignities he'd endured to get that touch, and Kel moaned and arched and tried to get that (literally) fucking finger to hit the spot again (and again, and again).
Time became a vortex, simultaneously slowing down to hold a single tortuous moment for eternity while revving up to zoom through the pleasure. Kelly whined for release, for the promise of unending pleasure, for any damn thing to take the crazy away. He could hear someone cooing far, far away, or maybe they were shushing him? Whatever the case, he knew he wasn't truly alone in this agonizing pleasure fueled haze, and the realization comforted him.
Then he felt the long striping of warm fluid in the small of his back. He panicked, because he knew, he knew what was coming next, and tried in vain to clench, to trap the hand that could send him to heaven deep inside. But the hand pulled away, leaving him empty and frustrated. The voice came close to his ear, whispering sweet encouragement, the same sweet encouragement it had whispered last night, upstairs, when they were supposed to be reclaiming their love, reestablishing the true order of the world. He'd come last night, mostly because he'd been relieved to get his wrists free of the iron grip that held him for close to an hour. Today, though, he wanted to feel, to be touched, to be held and held on to until he was well and truly spent. He growled, loud and long, thoroughly frustrated, into the cushion.
To his surprise, Stan whispered wetly in his ear, "Good boy." A line a kisses moved down his spine, before the couch shifted slightly under him, as Stan lifted from where ever he'd braced himself. "Go clean up. I'm going to open the windows. Don't want our guests to get the wrong ideas, right?"
Kel looked up and watched Stan tuck himself back into his pants as he approached the glass doors that lead to the balcony. At first, he was even angrier that Stan had assumed he'd gotten off on fucking command, like he was a dog who lived and died to please his master no matter how painful or humiliating. But the sound of Stan humming happily while he aired the place out made Kel think twice. Yes, the sex was... marginally dissatisfying. But there was so much more to their love, and that's what they had. He could hear it. He could see it. He could feel it - as surely as he'd felt its absence when he'd tried to make a go of things alone.
Kel quietly got to his feet, and went into the downstairs bath to wash up. He quietly took care of his lingering problem with the help of a warm lather, under the relaxing heat of a giant showerhead. He dried off and wrapped himself in a fluffy white robe, and tried not to feel guilty for imagining a colleague he hardly knew instead of his partner of twenty years.
A few hours later, the apartment was cold, run through by a hard sea wind that whipped the waters into a frothy mess, and filled the air with the smell of salt and sand. Stan stubbornly refused to close up, though. ("This is the whole reason to live so close to the water! It's exhilarating!") He was sitting on the balcony, enjoying a glass of wine in the wind. Kel, on the other hand, was fighting with the fireplace. He'd had to run to the store to pick up firewood as the temperature dropped, and Stan insisted that Kel put on a sweater. Nevermind they were supposed to be hosting dinner, and that they hadn't warned to dress for cold weather. Kel grumbled and lit a match for what felt like the fiftieth time, and prayed that the stupid thing would catch and actually stay lit this time.
The doorbell rang. Finally! Kel was glad he'd asked the food to come by 5 - if he'd left it to when his company was supposed to arrive, they'd be starving. The food was nearly an hour late as it was. He yanked open the door, ready to fuss at the driver for taking his sweet time, but the words died in his throat.
"Hello, Doc," Captain Stanley said. "I'm parked in a metered spot, I don't know if-"
"You're early."
Captain Stanley's eyebrows went up. "Uh, sorry? Should I leave and come back a little later?"
Kel shook his head. "Meters. We have a lot."
"A lot of meters?"
"No. A lot. We have our own parking lot." Kel shook his head. He was flabbergasted, and he didn't know why. (It didn't have anything to do with the silver turtleneck that highlighted the good captain's magnificent eyes, or the ridiculously tight jeans said turtleneck was tucked into, revealing that same long, lean silhouette he'd already had the pleasure of enjoying just a few weeks ago. Nope, nothing to do with that.) "Hold on. Keys. I need. Wait."
"Is that the food," Stan called from the balcony - he was still sitting out there, legs crossed, just as comfortable as he could fucking be.
"No, it's late. It's... I'll introduce you in a minute. I need to let him in the garage. Don't get up. Unless someone knocks while I'm gone." As if you could tear yourself away, Kel thought, and grabbed his keys. "Be right back."
"That's fine. Why don't you stop at the restaurant to see what's the hold up?"
Kel rolled his eyes and pretended not to hear as he shut the door. "Let's go, Captain," he said to his guest, and led the way to the elevator.
"Hank, please."
Kel smiled a little. "Kel," he said gruffly, almost reluctantly. It wasn't as if his name wasn't printed on his office door, in publicly available pamphlets all over the hospital, and in intra-departmental memos that circulated South County. But when he'd first met this man, the last thing he'd planned on giving out was his name. Now he was inviting him to use a nickname that was really only reserved for close friends. Guess we can't get much closer than carnal knowledge, though.
"This is some building," Hank said, slicing through Kel's worries. "Probably a nightmare to work though."
"To work?"
Hank colored. "Uh... you know, if it ever catches fire." He cleared his throat and stared at the elevator indicator like it was the most riveting thing he'd ever seen.
"Well here's hoping we never have to find that out, huh?" The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open. Kel stepped inside and held the door open for the good Hank to follow him in. "How was the drive?"
"Fine, fine. You're not too far from Carson, so it was okay."
Kel smiled. "That's why I chose it. Fairly close to work." Hank seemed to turn an even deeper shade of red. "The night life around here can be pretty spectacular, though. You might have trouble getting out, if you leave too late. Or too early."
The elevator deposited them in the lobby, and they squeezed out together, and went out to the street. Kel followed Hank to a pickup truck parked a little ways down the block. Already the nightlife was beginning to show signs of livening up, and he could see by the look on Hank's face that such wasn't the case when he'd first parked. "Good grief. It's like Mardi Gras out here!"
"I hear it's even crazier late Saturday nights. I sort of can't wait to see it for myself."
"Sheesh! Does your... your friend like it?"
Kel shrugged. "He's been having a party all over me since we moved in," he said, and couldn't keep the sourness out of his voice.
Hank started the car in silence. Kel kicked himself - what a nice thing to hear, that the guy you've been dumped for is no prize. Kel made a mental note to add to his list of self improvements: no badmouthing Stan to Hank. At least not until the sting of rejection was forgotten. "Go to the light. Make a right on Ocean, and drive past the apartment. There's an alley entrance."
Hank entered the wild traffic with calm ease. He maneuvered around jaywalkers and double parked cars without blinking, and found the entrance to the alley easily. "Okay," he said.
"Straight ahead, on the right. There'll be a big pink-"
"How many feet?"
Kel blinked. "I don't know... it's three quarters into the block from this end...?"
Hank nodded and floored it. Kel gulped and grabbed the door handle as they hurtled down the alleyway. But the truck slid to a gentle stop by the gated entrance. Kel got out on shaky legs and went to manually unlock the gate. He slid it aside, and watched as Hank pulled into the underground lot before Kel got the gate completely open. He locked up and trotted back to the truck. "The guest spots are as far as humanly possible from the elevator, of course," Kel said.
"Of course!" Hank pulled around and sped through the lot at breakneck speed, right up to the guest spots. He angled around and backed the truck into the parking spot. "This one is okay, right?"
Kel looked at him in wonder. "Sure, it's fine. You always drive like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like there's a fire."
Hank burst out laughing. The sound echoed through the garage, amplified by the hard concrete and metal and glass everywhere. "You know, I've only been a captain for a couple of months. Calendar months, not working hour months."
"Yes... so?"
"So before I was promoted, I was an engineer." At Kel's blank look, his smile softened. "I drove the fire engine."
It was Kel's turn to laugh. "Oh. Well. Guess that explains it!"
"Sorry if I alarmed you. I just kinda don't want to be alone with you for too long."
Kel's smile fell away with his hopes for a salvaged evening. "Oh..."
"Don't misunderstand me - I like being alone with you. I just don't want to cause you problems, you know? Or slip up and do something stupid."
Kel got out of the truck and began to walk quickly to the elevator. "I'm sure you'll be able to control yourself just fine, Captain."
He wanted to board the elevator alone, for spite, but the damn thing was up near the top floor, and taking its sweet time to come back down. By the time it paused at the lobby level, Hank had caught up to him and had a soft hand on his shoulder. "I didn't do such a good job of controlling myself in your office. And it seems like when I talk to you, I've got two modes: foot in mouth, and hands down pants. I don't want to be that way. Especially since you've offered me the laurel leaf."
"Olive branch," Kel said.
"Oh. Well, you know what I mean."
The elevator finally, finally arrived. "Yes, I do." Kel wanted to continue to pout, but the truth was, he was quite happy that Hank had accepted his invitation to dinner. (What he wasn't ready to admit to himself was the thrill of delight he'd felt when Hank had shown up alone - nevermind the man obviously didn't know anybody else in the area yet. The point was he was still available, even if Kel himself wasn't.) "Listen. If you do start to do something stupid, I'll stop you before it gets too far, okay?"
"Okay." That smile was back, so wide and bright and happy and full of good will and innocence and dirty sweet nothings - Stop it.
Neither of them made a move to start the elevator. They just watched each other for a long moment, before it began to move of its own accord. Still, nothing could break the spell, not even the sound of the elevator chiming its arrival, or the slight movement of air as the doors slid open, or the smell of garlic and lamb as a harried delivery boy hesitated just inside the doors.
"There you are," Stan's voice boomed into the bubble, and finally, Kel remembered where he was, who he was, what he was supposed to be doing. Hank turned slowly towards the open door, and stepped out into the vestibule that lead to their grand apartment over the sea. "You must be Captain Stanley," Stan was saying, the consummate host. "Come in, come in. Forgive the chill - Kelly was having the hell of a time getting the fire lit. Maybe you know some secret trick to get a good fire going. You know, know your enemy and all that?" Joint polite laughter filled the living room as Stan led their guest (my guest!) deeper into the apartment. Kel tried not to be bitter about being left alone to deal with the cold, burnt Greek takeout while they crouched over the fireplace. But then Stan was closing the glass doors, and the fire was roaring, and finally the evening began to look rosy and bright.